Hours
by Chain of Prospit
Summary: Brief PG Destiel feels. Castiel answers a question from long ago.


"Dean, wake up."

A hand at his shoulder, shaking; a gravelly voice. Asphalt.

"Dean."

Out of habit Dean shifted and opened his eyes, but he realized immediately that the call wasn't Sammy's usual hissed whisper. He rolled to the side, blinking blearily and scrunching up his face a bit, lips pursing into a 'fuck you for waking me up' pout of their own accord.

Cas stood over him.

"Oh."

Sighing, Dean shifted and sat himself up, scratching the back of his neck. Castiel straightened, waiting patiently by his bed.

Stretching his arms and cracking his back, Dean glanced up at Cas. "What is it," he rasped with squinting eyes, still a bit sour. He looked at the clock. 4:03 a.m.

Great.

Cas was still staring at him like he did, with those massive bright shadowed blue eyes. Dean had heard eyes described like pools before, deep wells of emotion. Cas's eyes weren't like that. They were almost like ice, but not really. Not quite crackling, not quite desolate, not quite soulful - they were a battlefield of a war since moved on. Burnt posts and dust, a leveled field and a clear sky, the only movement tattered flags and the whatever flames remained, licking quietly at the bases of things. And blue.

And watching.

"I have to show you something," said Castiel seriously.

"Yeahh, okay." Dean sighed again, standing. You could never tell with Cas whether it was important or not. Not that it mattered; it was all important to the angel, and he'd have you come along no matter what the urgency. "You gonna tell me what?" he added, tossing the words over his shoulder like a paper airplane as he shouldered his jacket.

"Yes," said Cas, but in typical angel fashion, continued on by exactly _not_ doing just that. "I've been thinking about what you asked me."

Well, this was probably some philosophical or pop culture related venture, then. Dean picked up his gun anyway. Couldn't seem to go anywhere without someone trying to gank 'im these days.

"Fantastic," he said wryly as he loaded the weapon, checking it formulaically. He glanced up at Cas, then back at his brother. He pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows at the angel, tucking away the gun.

"We, uh, bringing Sam?" he asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the sleeping moose of a brother in the next bed.

"No," said Cas. "I think it would sadden him to see this."

Shrugging, Dean tugged at his lapel and straightened his shoulders, lifting his chin and closing his eyes in preparation. "Okey doke," he said. "I'm ready."

"No," repeated Cas. "I want us to walk."

It took a second to peel his eyelids open again. This time it was Dean who stared at Cas, finally stirred by curiosity. The angel was already halfway to the door, trenchcoat-clad shoulders vaguely hunched as usual, and stride annoyingly long for someone shorter than him.

"Wha..." Realizing he would receive no answer, Dean rolled his eyes and settled to grumble to himself again, following Castiel outside.

* * *

><p>Minutes later - "This is the Impala," stated Dean shortly, a little irritated.<p>

"Yes," said Cas, meeting his gaze again with that eternally strange combination of calm and wistfulness.

"Fantastic," muttered Dean. He hated Cas's eye contact fetish, but sucked it up and leveled his stare. "Explain, please."

"You once asked me if there was anything I wanted to do on my last day on Earth," said Cas.

Taken aback, Dean furrowed his eyebrows and shifted, hands in his pockets. "Yeah, and apparently it wasn't sex." He huffed. What was this about? "Your point?"

"Considering that any day may be my last day, I've been mulling over this conundrum," he said. "And I have finally reached an answer."

"That's great Cas, but did you have to drag me out of bed at four in the morning for this?"

"Yes," said Castiel.

"Of course you did," muttered Dean under his breath. He tilted his head and squinted his eyes, searching Cas's face. When he didn't continue, he grudgingly prompted him. "And?"

"I want to see the heavens," said Cas solemnly. Seeing the expression on Dean's face, he (for once) went on to clarify. "From below, I mean."

Dean, not sure what to make of this, shifted again and watched Castiel with a knit brow. As per usual, Cas's eyes never left his.

"I would like to be able to appreciate the heavens without being - you know - in heaven," said Cas, exhaling shortly. It occurred to Dean, with some surprise, that this was actually hard for Castiel to say. "I would like to look up at the sky from earth and see not God and angels and kingdoms and prisons. I need to appreciate it for being the sky and the celestial backdrop that blankets y- our entire existence. To see beyond heaven and at what is infinite and nothing and meaningless and unknowable, undefined beauty."

There was maybe only one other thing that could render Dean this speechless, and that was the two-word phrase of dread: "I'm... late," coming from a girl's mouth as she twisted her hands. This, however, this - this was something entirely different. Struggling to start a sentence, Dean shut his mouth after failing to pronounce anything suitable.

Finally, he settled for a muttered, "Wow," and raised his eyebrows, shaking his head at the pavement.

Cas was still staring at him. After a moment, he added, "I believe it's called stargazing. According to the television, it often occurs between teen lovers lying on their backs on the hood of a car."

The monotone statement drew a chuckle from Dean's lips. "That it does," he said.

Cas went on. "I don't have a teen lover," he stated solemnly. Obviously, thought Dean. "But I thought it would be a shame to go through the experience alone. I wanted you to share it with me."

Again, _again_, always these astonishingly flat statements with absolutely _flooring_ depth. Dean ran his fingers through his hair, taking a moment. "You planning on watching 'em disappear, too? 'Cos you know, after a while the sun will rise."

"Yes," said Castiel. "That is the plan."

Watching the sun rise with an angel on the hood of his Impala. Heh. Young Dean would not expect this to be the way that scene played out.

"Yeahhh, okay," said Dean, allowing a sturgeon smile and clasping Cas on the shoulder.

Stupid angels, he really was freakin' adorable sometimes. It should be illegal, he cursed in his head.

"Thank you," said Castiel seriously.

Dean paused, looking at him for a moment. "... Yeah," he said. "I mean - hey, I've never really had anybody to stargaze with either, buddy. So, uh - yeah. Good call."

Cas nodded. He stared at Dean for a minute, making him grow uncomfortable, then admitted lowly, "I don't know how."

Dean blinked. "How what," he said.

"How do I lay on the car," he said. "And... balance, I guess." He looked about as lost as a man in a tie and a trenchcoat could look. Almost contrite.

Dean squinted at him, then chuckled fondly. "C'mon," he said. "I'll show you.

* * *

><p>Sam would probably wonder where they were, thought Dean idly. The bottom of the sun was just grazing the gutter of the cheap motel by now.<p>

He had abandoned his fixations on the stars and the sun and the clouds and the colors at this point, now shifting between idly gazing through the lashes of his almost-closed eyes and taking alarmingly frequent glances at his grave-still companion. There was something about him, something about the thin line of gold caressing his profile, the weight of his brow, the grim set of his lips, the tousle of hair at his forehead, the search in his eyes - something about this him, about Castiel, that would never belong to Jimmy Novak. Dean believed with certainty, somehow, that even if Castiel was just Castiel, a person, and never an angel at all - so long as Castiel was Castiel, he would always possess that quality about him, always be distinguishable.

If Dean were the sort to set a poetic mind meandering, he would say there was just something aching about him in general. That if an existence could be aching, Castiel's existence was - but an aching buried in dark granite, a seed enveloped in an ancient and giant tree. The thoughts didn't happen this way in Dean's mind, really - they didn't need to. His observations culminated without words, instead, and that was the way he preferred it.

Who could describe Castiel, anyway?

As if the unspoken word were a bidding, Castiel glanced over at him at that moment. Dean thought about looking away, but didn't. He wondered what would happen if he didn't break the gaze, if he let Castiel keep staring at him like that, if a lock would form, or an ocular magnet.

"Dean," murmured Cas, breaking his idle musings.

Dean raised a brow in response.

"I probably will die a virgin," Cas said morosely.

Dean blinked, then tilted his head back and laughed, a few throaty wheezes. "You're sure something, Cas," he said, amused. "That's a shame, too."

"I'm sorry if it affects your life view," he said, and Dean knew that he meant it, recalling his grandiose statement from the time.

"I'll live," he assured Castiel with a wry smile.

Cas nodded, seeming satisfied, but then furrowed his brow again, something seeming on the tip of his lips. Dean rested his skull against the windshield again, squinting his eyes at him curiously.

"I will probably die a virgin," repeated Cas, "but..."

His brow carved deeper, the slight shifts in his expression equivalent to a bitten lip or wringing hands. His eyes, which had momentarily migrated to bore into the Chevy's hood, lifted again, flickering between his own searchingly. Captivated despite himself, Dean stared back, wondering what was in the angel's head.

Cas never finished his sentence. Instead, too swiftly to prepare, he lifted and twisted his torso, propping himself up with a hand on Dean's other side - leaning over him, a smooth movement, dipped his head like a swan and pressed his lips to Dean's.

Dean didn't pull away, or freeze. Nor did he lean towards him, touch him, or respond. Instead he took in every absolute detail of that moment - the feeling of Castiel's lips on his, the prickling hairs on his chin brushing against his own, the warmth of his presence, the oddly nice feeling of his calloused palm cupping his jaw. As the angel lifted his lips from his, Dean allowed himself to breath, lifting his lids to look at him, swallowing softly.

Whoops.

Castiel's eyes seemed bluer than ever, and somehow less hollow. They bored into his own, asking, this time, a clear question, with clear uncertainty.

It was Dean's turn to wear the solemn gaze, breathing softly and mind racing to figure out what the answer was, and whether it was in words or actions or a look. After seconds ticked by, he decisively relaxed. He didn't know if this was an answer, but - he closed his eyes again, lifting his head ever so slightly, just enough for their foreheads to brush.

He figured it was sort of a permission.

He was so tired.

Maybe he should stop worrying all the time and let someone love him for once in his life. Even if it was only for minutes, or the better half of a moment on the hood of an Impala; he could figure out whether he was okay with this later.

Maybe now it was just okay to be in Cas's arms.

The angel's lips lowered and captured Dean's once more. His hand, which had been lying gracelessly on the windshield by his head, found itself intertwined with a new set of fingers, strong and possessive. He allowed his fingers to curl with them. His other hand lifted - of its own accord? Maybe, maybe not - and wrapped itself at the nape of Castiel's neck, thumb immersing in dark hair, pulling him closer, kissing him back.

For now - maybe this was okay.


End file.
